1. In The Shadow of Dracula
by
Damian Stevenson
11/12/08 DRAFT
2. BLACK SCREEN
The grating SOUND of a knife flint dragged across a
whetstone comes over, like nails scraping chalk, as we
FADE IN:
On a close-up of a blade being sharpened. An ornate
Victorian hunting knife. Manicured HANDS clasping it.
The SOUND of CLATTERING HOOVES comes over.
EXT. LONDON STREETS - NIGHT
A herky-jerky POV atop a horse-drawn hansom thundering
down a crowded London thoroughfare, scattering
PICKPOCKETS, PROSTITUTES, PORTERS and THIEVES.
A cloaked FIGURE stands in the middle of the muddy road,
remaining stationary, oblivious to his imminent demise.
The CABMAN sees him and cries out.
CABMAN
Hey-oh! Out of the way! Ho!
At the last possible moment, the figure deftly side-
steps, swinging his arm in an elegant, arcing motion.
A FLASH of steel. The sharpened flint finds flesh.
The horse stumbles, its neck slashed, bringing everything
to a violent, CRASHING HALT. The Cabman is thrown. His
cab topples over and skids spectacularly across the road.
A wheel goes flying, spins through the air whip-saw fast,
blurring past a frozen GREENGROCER. His neatly severed
head bounces down the filthy gutter. Someone SCREAMS.
The screeching, sparking heap comes to a rest in a flower
stand where the entangled horse bucks wildly, blood
spurting from its neck onto people’s faces and clothes.
An oncoming cab veers to avoid the debris and plows into
a restaurant. A terrific EXPLOSION of glass shards.
DINERS and elegantly-dressed WAITERS mowed down. Carnage.
ANGLE ON
The wreck still shuddering and splintering, surrounded by
flowers, like an impromptu funeral arrangement.
3. 2.
The Cabman cuts loose his horse and SHOOTS it. He tries
to pry open the doors while CHILDREN attack his vehicle.
CABMAN
Clear off! Thieves!
Their small grubby hands snap loose metal edgings and
knobs, seats and precious swatches of leather and cloth.
A MAN squeezes out of the shattered carriage, staggers
about, stupefied, trying to get his bearings, while
onlookers gawp at him like they just witnessed a miracle.
He is tall, good-looking, about thirty. He has blood
matted down the side of his face. He is holding a pistol.
His dazed eyes sweep the area, trying to locate the
shrouded figure. His eyes strain. Everything is spinning.
FADE OUT.
FADE IN:
EXT. HOLLYWOOD HILLS - DAY
A black Dodge taxicab trundles up a steep scrubby slope.
An OLD WOMAN sits in the back of the taxi, clad in a
black Victorian dress, her face obscured by a silk veil.
Slanting shafts of dusty sunlight stream into the cab.
SUPER: HOLLYWOOD, 1930
EXT. UNIVERSAL PICTURES - DAY
The taxi backfires as it departs, having dispensed the
Old Woman who shuffles to the Universal SECURITY GUARD.
OLD WOMAN
Florence Stoker to see Mr. Carl Laemmle.
The Guard looks her up and down.
INT. EXECUTIVE BUILDING, FIRST FLOOR - DAY
A platinum-blonde RECEPTIONIST graces the art deco foyer.
FLORENCE
Florence Stoker to see Mr. Carl Laemmle.
4. 3.
INT. EXECUTIVE BUILDING, UPPER FLOOR - DAY
Florence is led along by a bespectacled male SECRETARY.
SECRETARY
This way, please, Mrs. Stoker.
He ushers her down a hallway decked with framed stills
and posters from Universal’s horror hits of the 1920s
like ”Phantom of the Opera” and “The Cat and the Canary.”
INT. CARL LAEMMLE JR.’S OFFICE - DAY
Doors push open to reveal CARL LAEMMLE JR., 23, ensconced
behind his desk reading Variety, the cover of which says
“LITTLE CAESAR GUNS DOWN BOX OFFICE! MGM NO. 1 AGAIN!”
Disgruntled, obsessed, he doesn’t notice that his meeting
has arrived. His Secretary coughs, snapping him out of
it. Laemmle forces a smile, stands up to greet Florence.
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
This is truly an honor. To think when I
was a small boy growing up in Hoboken
that I would one day meet the wife of...
FLORENCE
(cuts him off, exasperated)
Just how many lapdogs does this jerk
Laemmle have? Anyone would think I was
meeting the President! Where is he?
Laemmle is speechless, his Secretary appalled.
SECRETARY
Mrs. Stoker, this is Mr. Laemmle!
Florence squints her eyes at the baby-faced Laemmle.
FLORENCE
You! How old are you?!
There suddenly comes a loud ruckus from outside, CLANGING
METAL with what sounds like a full ORCHESTRA tuning up.
EXT. UNIVERSAL BACKLOT - DAY
A big, bloated MGM-style musical is rehearsing on the
backlot with a swirl of frenetic activity surrounding it.
DANCING GIRLS kick, MAKE-UP CREWS flutter about and, sure
enough, a full orchestra provides musical accompaniment.
5. 4.
PULLING BACK we realize we are watching from Laemmle and
Florence’s POV as they look down from Laemmle’s balcony.
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
Pretty amazing, huh?
FLORENCE
Opening night at The Lyceum, that was
amazing. But you wouldn’t know anything
about that, seeing as how you’re twelve.
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
The Lyceum Theatre in London, where your
husband was codirector with Henry Irving
during its heyday in the 1880s and 90s.
Florence is non plussed.
FLORENCE
My compliments to your research
department.
Laemmle pauses, studying the shrewd old bird. He smiles.
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
Tea, Mrs. Stoker?
He gestures to a tea-wagon laden with yummy refreshments.
FLORENCE
I’d prefer something stronger.
Laemmle flips a switch, causing a bulky radio consul to
swivel around revealing a hidden wet bar. The device jams
with just half the bar exposed, forcing Laemmle to kneel
down and squeeze his hand in to reach a bottle of booze.
FLORENCE (CONT’D)
(peers outside)
Might I ask what you’re photographing
down there?
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
(straining to reach inside)
Nothing. That’s actually a rehearsal for
“King of Jazz.” No cameras rolling yet.
FLORENCE
“King of Jazz?” Wasn’t your last picture
“Broadway” also a musical? Perhaps I
should be talking to Mr. Mayer over at
MGM?
This hits a nerve.
6. 5.
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
Things are going to be different around
here now that my father has officially
retired. I intend to restore Universal to
her former position as the pre-eminent
purveyor of terror and suspense.
He floods two highballs with gin, shovels in some ice.
FLORENCE
Your father passed on my husband’s book
in 1916.
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
That was before sound! Before moving
cameras.
FLORENCE
He considered the story, and I quote,
“too scary” for a movie audience.
Laemmle smiles slyly to himself, brings the drinks over.
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
And, in what can only be described as an
ironic twist of fate, it is for this very
same reason that I would like to offer
you forty thousand dollars to purchase
the underlying rights to “Dracula.”
(hands her cocktail)
Plus two and a half percent of the gross.
Florence looks at him.
CARL LAEMMLE JR. (CONT’D)
Well, Mrs. Stoker? What do you say? Do we
have a deal?
INT. MOVIE THEATRE - NIGHT
PAN FROM a SIGN that says “TEST SCREENING IN PROGRESS” to
CARL LAEMMLE JR.’S FACE pressed up against the auditorium
door glass. He is with SUITS and KEY PERSONNEL from the
1931 movie of “Dracula” including director TODD BROWNING.
Piercing SHRIEKS rip forth from inside the auditorium.
CAPTION: PASADENA, ONE YEAR LATER
Doors EXPLODE open and two outraged MEN stampede out.
MOVIEGOER
Disgusting!
7. 6.
Laemmle and his Colleagues hug and high-five each other.
MONTAGE
A flurry of Variety headlines attests to the phenomenal
success of “Dracula.” News footage of MOVIEGOERS lined up
around the block. Shots of the “Dracula” CAST at events.
“Dracula” the play, the Broadway sensation. “Fang” Clubs.
END MONTAGE
INT. PROJECTION ROOM, UNIVERSAL - DAY
Laemmle is screening dailies from “King of Jazz,” looking
miserable, as ROBINSON, a young executive, enters and
gropes around in the dim light, sits down beside him.
ROBINSON
You sent for me, Mr. Laemmle?
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
Tell me, Robinson, what do you know about
Bram Stoker?
ROBINSON
The author of Dracula? Uh...
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
Nothing. Just what I thought. Abraham
“Bram” Stoker, 1847-1912, Irish theatre
critic and author of “Dracula.” For
twenty years, the manager of Sir Henry
Irving. Have you heard of Henry Irving?
ROBINSON
I confess I have not.
Laemmle looks at him sourly.
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
Remind me to review your resume. Irving
was once the most famous actor in the
world. Cagney, Muni and Jolson all rolled
into one. You can’t imagine how big this
guy was, on both sides of the Atlantic.
ROBINSON
And Bram Stoker was his agent?
8. 7.
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
Whatever the Victorian equivalent was.
So get this, Stoker dies 1912. April
1912. Days after the Titanic sinks.
ROBINSON
That’s rough.
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
Suffice to say not much attention was
paid to Stoker’s passing. I found one
obit, squeezed in at the back of ‘The
Times.’ Doesn’t even mention “Dracula.”
He hands Robinson a laminated, yellowing newspaper obit.
Above the boxed death notice there is a grainy image of
BRAM STOKER, HENRY IRVING and a third man, H.J. LOVEDAY.
The caption says “Bram Stoker with actor Sir Henry Irving
and H.J. Loveday, Co-Manager of the Lyceum under Stoker.”
CARL LAEMMLE JR. (CONT’D)
I want you to listen to something.
(stands, goes to phonograph)
This is an old wax cylinder recording of
an unaired radio interview Stoker gave in
1910. Research dug it up in CBS archives.
He puts the needle on the indented, rotating cylinder.
RECORDING
Scratchy static. HISSING. Then a VOICE. A British accent.
INTERVIEWER’S VOICE
Our listeners are curious to know about
the novel’s origins. Where did you get
the idea for such a remarkable story?
The next VOICE we hear is rich and sonorous, a blend of
Irish and English. The VOICE of ABRAHAM “BRAM” STOKER.
STOKER’S VOICE
It began when I saw the name ‘Dracul’ on
an old Hungarian coin. ‘Dracul’ is
derived from the word ‘draco’ in the
Megleno-Romanian language, meaning
‘devil.’
9. 8.
INTERVIEWER’S VOICE
I’d like to ask you about your
relationship with Henry Irving next if I
may. There’s been much speculation about
the circumstances surrounding his death.
STOKER’S VOICE
It is a well known fact that Mr. Irving
was suffering from...
INTERVIEWER’S VOICE
A lung condition, yes, but what about the
police inquest, the talk of foul play?
STOKER’S VOICE
That was a long time ago, I consider the
matter closed.
INTERVIEWER’S VOICE
Do you miss him?
STOKER’S VOICE
We were discussing ‘Dracula.’
INTERVIEWER’S VOICE
Well, here’s a quote from it. Van Helsing
speaking: “My life is a barren and lonely
one, and so full of work that I have not
had much time for friendships... and it
has grown with my advancing years, the
loneliness of my life.” Fair assessment
of your life after Mr. Irving’s death?
Scratchy SILENCE.
STOKER’S VOICE
This interview is over.
Laemmle lifts the needle, switches the machine off.
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
Pretty interesting, huh?
ROBINSON
How did Irving die? Was he murdered?
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
That’s what I want you to find out. In
addition to answering the question of who
Bram Stoker was. Speak to anyone that’s
still alive that knew him. I don’t care
where they are. I’ll fly you to London,
Dublin. Hell, Transylvania if I have to.
10. 9.
ROBINSON
Are we planning a press release?
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
Press release? The guy came up with the
greatest spine-tingler in history,
Robinson, don’t you think he deserves
something more than a press release? If
this pans out, I’m thinking maybe we do a
a short feature on Stoker’s life and put
it before our Halloween re-release of
“Dracula.” A little added incentive to
lure the public back for a second time.
ROBINSON
Good idea.
CARL LAEMMLE JR.
I know.
(hustling him out)
Go home and pack, you’re booked on the
next flight to Philadelphia.
ROBINSON
What’s in Philadelphia?
INT. THE ROSENBACH MUSEUM - DAY
A fetching female ARCHIVIST leads Robinson through a maze
of shelves in the museum’s subterranean book depository.
ROBINSON
How’d an Irishman like Bram Stoker get
his family papers in a Philly museum?
ARCHIVIST
Mr. Stoker made a substantial donation to
the museum during The Lyceum’s American
tour of 1888.
She stops before a locked gate and opens it to reveal a
temperature-controlled antechamber for storing documents.
ARCHIVIST (CONT’D)
This is where we keep the Stoker family
papers. His mother was a writer, you
know, essays and Irish ghost stories.
ROBINSON
I’m interested in a book Bram Stoker
wrote in 1905, “Personal Reminiscences of
Henry Irving.” It’s out of print.
11. 10.
ARCHIVIST
It was never really in print. Just a few
copies circulated. Stoker’s plan was to
sell the book privately, to people he
knew, for a premium.
Robinson checks out her stockinged legs as she mounts a
step ladder to reach something on an upper shelf.
ARCHIVIST (O.S.) (CONT’D)
You know, a sort of collector’s edition
for Henry Irving fans. Didn’t pan out.
ROBINSON
I thought Irving had a lot of fans. He
was like Cagney, Muni, Jolson all in one.
ARCHIVIST (O.S.)
They say by the time of the Lyceum’s
third tour, Henry Irving’s signature was
more recognizable than the President’s.
She steps down off the ladder with a metal box.
ROBINSON
So why didn’t the book sell?
ARCHIVIST
(shrugs)
Sic transit gloria mundi.
He looks at her blankly.
ARCHIVIST (CONT’D)
It means... fame is fleeting.
She blows the dust off the container and opens it, finds
the tome Robinson needs and puts it on a desk before him.
ROBINSON
Thank you. My name’s Robinson by the way.
He tries to get eye contact but she’s already gone.
He shrugs, looks at the book. The red-leather bind of the
cover is centered by a raised gold-leaf bust of Henry
Irving, shown in profile, with his prominent Roman nose.
Robinson pries open the book, turning to the front.
On the first page, we see the title in gilt lettering:
“PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OF HENRY IRVING”
by BRAM STOKER
12. 11.
Robinson flips to the first chapter. We go close on the
page as he reads and we HEAR STOKER’S VOICE come over.
STOKER (V.O.)
Irving and I were alone together one hot
afternoon in August 1887, crossing in the
steamer from Southsea to the Isle of
Wight, and were talking of that phase of
stage art which deals with the conception
and development of character.
EXT. ISLE OF WIGHT STEAMER - NIGHT
Rain clouds scuttle across the moon, casting a fleeting
diorama of light and shade over the tumultuous sea.
BRAM STOKER, 42, and HENRY IRVING, 51, are strolling on
deck. We recognize Stoker as the dazed, pistol-toting
gentleman who stumbled from the stagecoach wreckage.
Irving is tall, dark and brooding, with intense, coal-
black eyes and a mane of sweeping, Byronic black hair.
STOKER (V.O.)
In the course of our conversation, whilst
he was explaining to me the absolute
necessity of an actor’s understanding the
prime qualities of character in order
that he may make it throughout
consistent, he said these words:
HENRY IRVING
If you do not pass a character through
your own mind it can never be sincere!
STOKER (V.O.)
I was struck with the phrase, coming as
it did as the crown of an argument -- the
explanation of a great artist’s method of
working out a conceived idea. Lest I
should forget the exact words I wrote
them then and there in my pocket-book,
whence I entered them later in my diary.
Stoker transcribes Irving’s maxim and mulls its meaning.
STOKER (V.O.) (CONT’D)
But I must start at the beginning. Nine
years earlier. December 13th, 1878. The
day the world’s greatest thespian invited
an unsalaried theatre critic to have a
drink with him at the Shelbourne Hotel.
13. 12.
INT. DUBLIN THEATRE ROYAL - DAY
A spellbound Stoker watches Irving electrify Dublin with
his radical “Hamlet,” portraying the prince as a man
demonically possessed with the spirit of his dead father.
HENRY IRVING
‘Tis now the very witching time of night,
When churchyards yawn, and all hell
itself breathes out contagion to this
world. Now I could drink hot blood,
And do such bitter business as the day
would quake to look on.
Assorted SHRIEKS. A WOMAN in the front row faints.
INT. SHELBOURNE HOTEL - DAY
Stoker is at the bar, anxiously eyeing his pocket-watch.
BARMAN
Do you know what day it is?
STOKER
I beg your pardon?
BARMAN
It is the eve of St. George's. Tonight,
when the sun sets, all evil things in the
world have full sway.
A bell TINKLES. Stoker turns to see that a grand black
caleche with six black horses has pulled up outside.
EXT. SHELBOURNE HOTEL - DAY
The DRIVER hands Stoker an envelope sealed with wax
bearing the initials ‘H.I.’ Stoker snaps it open and
looks at it. We HEAR Henry Irving’s VOICE as he reads.
HENRY IRVING (V.O.)
Friend: please excuse the hugger muggery
but I’m unable to make it into town
tonight and ask you to come join us here
at ‘Camp Irving,’ our home on the road,
instead. My Driver will bring you here.
Stoker feels a slight chill run down his spine. A fleece-
lined cloak is suddenly thrown over his shoulders by the
Driver who speaks with a thick Eastern European accent.
14. 13.
DRIVER
Good evening, mein Herr. There’s a flask
of plum brandy under the seat, if you
should require it. Mr. Irving recently
brought a case back from Hungary.
Before Stoker can protest he has been ushered aboard.
He jerks his head out and is about to holler to the
Driver when there is a loud THWACK of leather against
horse flesh and the coach lurches off into the night.
INT. CALECHE - MOVING - DAY
The Driver looks back at Stoker with a ghoulish grin,
cracking his whip as they thunder out of the city.
DRIVER
We must reach our destination before
sundown! It is the eve of St. George!
A large gray bat flaps its wings above the horses and
appears to be guiding the carriage as it hurtles along.
Stoker looks out uneasily at the city’s outskirts
flashing past.
The sun is setting under a dramatic blood-red sky
streaked with lurid swirls of purple and vermilion.
EXT. CASTLE - EVENING
The caleche pulls up in the courtyard of a vast ruined
castle with broken battlements showing a jagged line
against the sky. Stoker alights. The coach clatters off.
STOKER
I say! Hello!
He sees a faint glow of light emanating from the castle.
EXT. CASTLE ENTRANCE - NIGHT
The doors mysteriously creak open, revealing a sprawling
campsite of STAGEHANDS, ACTORS and MUSICIANS feasting on
“robber-steaks” -- twists of bloody scraps of meat.
A striking dark-skinned WOMAN dressed as a belly dancer
smiles beguilingly at Stoker from under a broken archway.
15. 14.
MIDDLE EASTERN WOMAN
Good evening.
Stoker flits his eyes over her amazing form.
STOKER
Good evening.
MIDDLE EASTERN WOMAN
Enter at your own will.
Stoker continues on, stumbling over a loose stone in the
floor. Sensing a presence, he looks up to see a gaunt,
dark figure at the top of a crumbling stone staircase.
HENRY IRVING
descends toward him, dressed impeccably in a tuxedo with
his hair slicked back, holding a lamp that throws long
quivering shadows flickering in the dilapidated hall.
HENRY IRVING
Welcome to my home away from home!
He presses his hands into Stoker’s. He is incredibly
charismatic, electric even. Stoker is flustered.
STOKER
This is the greatest moment of my life.
HENRY IRVING
Dear friend! I owe you a debt of eternal
gratitude. Because of your kind words
over the years, Dublin has warmed to me
and she now lies prostate at my feet.
STOKER
I merely record what I see: genius.
HENRY IRVING
Egadz! If I had a Stoker in America!
An insistent COUGH suddenly intrudes. Stoker notices a
short, weasly MAN behind Irving. He is H.J. LOVEDAY, 36.
HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
Mr. Stoker, may I present Mr. H.J.
Loveday, Co-Manager of The Lyceum.
Mr. Loveday, meet Mr. Bram Stoker, Dublin
theatre critic extraordinnaire.
16. 15.
STOKER
A pleasure, sir. I was in London last
summer and saw “The Bells,” a first-rate
production if I may say so.
LOVEDAY
You’re paid to write reviews?
STOKER
Well, it is not a salaried position as
yet but I hope to convince my editor...
HENRY IRVING
Now, now, H.J., Mr. Stoker has been a
tremendous help to us here in Dublin and
we must show him our gratitude! Ahem!
Loveday begrudgingly shakes Stoker’s hand.
INT. LUXURY TENT - NIGHT
A minor platoon of elegantly dressed SERVANTS cater to
the every whim of Irving, Stoker and Loveday, filling
crystal wine goblets and serving heaps of dressed crab.
HENRY IRVING
You will I trust excuse that I do not
join you but I have already dined and I
never drink... wine. Tell me what you
thought of tonight’s effort. How was I?
STOKER
You brought a psychological dimension to
the character. An inner voice that made
the audience think as well as feel.
HENRY IRVING
How very astute of you to grasp that.
LOVEDAY
Psycho-what? What is he babbling about?
HENRY IRVING
I infer from this, Stoker, that you’re
not an adherent of the Diderot school?
STOKER
Well, I’d hardly call the rantings of an
obscure French actor a ‘school.’
Irving explodes with laughter.
17. 16.
HENRY IRVING
Oh, I don’t mean to seem so starved for
attention but you know we actors are
treated like dogs. Less than dogs. No
respect. It is my life goal to bring
honor and dignity to the profession.
I want acting to be as respected as
medicine, the law, or the church!
STOKER
I am told that there is not in the United
States the same violent opposition to the
choice of the stage as a profession that
holds more or less in all Europe.
Irving POUNDS the table with his fist.
HENRY IRVING
You see, Mr. Loveday, this is the man I
have been searching for!
Loveday dabs his mouth with a napkin.
LOVEDAY
I think I’ll leave you two to it.
An attendant pulls his chair back and Loveday skedaddles.
HENRY IRVING
Tell me about yourself, Stoker. Not your
life story. Just tell me what you want.
STOKER
What I want?
HENRY IRVING
You’re thirty years old. You work as a
civil servant during the day and write
theatre reviews for The Express at night.
Is this where you saw yourself ending up?
Surely there must be some secret dream.
STOKER
(after a beat)
I write. Short stories. Novels. I hope to
one day pen something lasting, something
permanent.
HENRY IRVING
So we both want the same thing you and I:
Immortality!
STOKER
Immortality through art.
18. 17.
HENRY IRVING
The only kind possible!
A quiet moment, the two of them staring at each other.
Irving smiles as he gestures to an ornate glass fountain
residing on the table.
HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
Let us visit the Green Fairy.
He looks at Stoker. Testing him. Does he know what to do?
Stoker carefully positions sugar cubes over two goblets
and then slowly filters absinthe through them, twisting
spigots on the fountain to add just the right amount
(about a jigger) of chilled water to the concentrate.
The absinthe clouds up, its color slowly transforming
from deep emerald into an opalescent light green.
HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
Well poured!
(raises glass)
To new friends!
STOKER
(toasting)
Thank you!
They drink. It’s getting late. Servants ignite a fire pit
for warmth, chasing the shadows away.
HENRY IRVING
Tell me about your family, Stoker. What
does your father do?
STOKER
Retired civil servant. Worked at Dublin
Castle for fifty years. Wants me to
follow in his path to mediocrity.
HENRY IRVING
I’d say you’re already on your way!
Allow me to be blunt. I want you to come
work for me. I need a man like you:
cultivated, organized and ambitious.
STOKER
In what capacity?
HENRY IRVING
Run the front house and manage the next
phase of my career: conquering America.
19. 18.
Stoker, stunned, tries to act cool.
STOKER
What does Mr. Loveday do?
HENRY IRVING
Mostly administrative duties. He is a
bright young man but does not possess
your acumen. Have you visited the States?
STOKER
I have not.
HENRY IRVING
A most arduous journey. What’s wrong? You
have a sudden look of consternation.
STOKER
I don’t think I’m qualified for the
immense responsibility of managing Mr.
Henry Irving’s career. I love the theatre
but have no practical knowledge of how to
run a business.
HENRY IRVING
Of course you do. You’ve worked as a
civil servant for seven years. Running a
theatre has to be easier than managing a
county in Ireland.
STOKER
But the differences...
HENRY IRVING
Are slight. You will have a staff of
forty-eight and my expertise to guide
you. You’re not married I hope?
STOKER
No.
HENRY IRVING
Good. I didn’t think so. Men marry when
they are tired and you seem anything but.
I was married once... Ages ago, it seems.
She died.
STOKER
I’m sorry.
HENRY IRVING
She was fortunate. Life is such a
mystery. So what do you say? Game?
20. 19.
STOKER
This would mean leaving Ireland.
HENRY IRVING
For the world! To go through the crowded
streets of the metropolis, to be in the
midst of the whirl and rush of humanity,
to share its life, its changes, its
death!
He fills their goblets to the rim.
HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
I’ll even make you Co-Director, with your
name alongside mine, above the playbill.
(a whisper)
Mr. Irving and Mr. Stoker Present...
Stoker loosens his collar, feeling the effects of the
drink. Thirsty, he downs a carafe of water. He looks at
the fire. Bursts of red and green light strobe at him.
HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
Think it over. In the meantime, I would
like to present you with a special gift.
A private recitation of ‘Eugene Aram.’
LATER
Stoker is slumped back in his chair, hypnotized by
Irving’s hallucinatory poetry-reading/performance art.
Everything is nightmarishly distorted by the absinthe.
HENRY IRVING
Two sudden blows with a ragged stick,
And one with a heavy stone,
One hurried gash with a hasty knife, --
And then the deed was done:
There was nothing lying at my foot
But lifeless flesh and bone!
Frenzied, he acts out the battering of the old man.
HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
Nothing but lifeless flesh and bone,
That could not do me ill;
And yet I feared him all the more,
For lying there so still:
There was a manhood in his look,
That murder could not kill.
21. 20.
Stoker feels a hand on him, turns to see the sultry
Middle Eastern women kneeling by him with a smoldering
opium pipe. She leans in, purses her ruby lips and gently
blows a thin plume of whitish smoke into his mouth.
EXT. CAMPSITE, CASTLE GROUNDS - NIGHT
Stoker comes to by the fire pit.
The dark beauty is with a FAIR-HAIRED DAMSEL and a RED-
HEAD. She shakes her head coquettishly. The others urge
her on. They all three laugh, a silvery, musical laugh.
The dark woman moves to Stoker, reaching behind her back
to unclasp her silk bra. The bra tumbles to the ground.
She kneels before Stoker and kisses his mouth, moving
down to his neck. She locks her lips onto his throat.
Stoker gasps. A beat, then...
...she slides down him, biting his flesh, as the blonde
gets behind her and cups her breasts and the red-head
moves to Stoker on all fours, like a cat to its prey.
A bat flitters by overhead, twisting and whirling.
The fire pit flares up and for a brief moment we catch a
glimpse of Henry Irving watching from the shadows.
We HEAR the SOUND of FLORENCE’S VOICE come over.
FLORENCE (V.O.)
It’s too dark. I can’t see!
INT. LONDON FLAT - NIGHT
CLOSE ON A GAS-LAMP
A small female hand turns the wick up, only for a much
larger hand to clasp onto it and turn the light down.
FLORENCE (O.S.)
What are you... I can’t...
They’re giddy, laughing. We HEAR bags drop to the ground.
STOKER (O.S.)
Close your eyes. Okay. Stop.
22. 21.
EXT. LONDON FLAT - BALCONY - NIGHT
Stoker is behind a young and beautiful, just-married
Florence. She’s 19, tall at five feet eight, with a
patrician profile, gray-blue eyes, and long blonde hair.
STOKER
All right. Open your eyes.
She opens them and reacts in amazement to what she sees.
FLORENCE
My god. The light!
NEW ANGLE
We now see the view, a stunning vista of the Thames
embankment illuminated by rows of blazing street lamps.
FLORENCE (CONT’D)
I’ve never seen such brilliance. It’s
heavenly!
STOKER
The gaslight era is over. Behold the
modern age of electricity.
A long, leisurely panning and gliding shot from right to
left across the inspiring skyline of the metropolis.
FLORENCE
St. Paul’s Cathedral, Chelsea Bridge... I
can even see Buckingham Palace!
STOKER
I think that’s the Tower of London.
FLORENCE
Look at the river! All the barges. Oh...
She is prevented from leaning any further by her bulky
wedding dress.
STOKER
Take it off. You’d see better.
FLORENCE
Oh, would I now?
STOKER
Well, the view would certainly improve
for me, Mrs. Stoker.
She smiles slyly, moves toward him, unbuttoning...
23. 22.
FLORENCE
I suppose I did just take an oath to
love, honor and obey you.
We leave them to it, pulling up and away, to a somewhat
eerie SUBJECTIVE BIRD’S EYE VIEW on them.
The unsettling POV starts moving, twisting and whirling.
INT. HANSOM - MOVING - NIGHT
Stoker and Florence are in a hansom rumbling through
London’s arteries, both of them dressed to the nines.
Stoker looks resplendent in a tuxedo and patterned
Hellfire vest, under a frock coat, with top hat and cane.
Florence is in a restrictive gown which is heavily
ornamented with frills, pleats, ruffles and fringing.
FLORENCE
I should have worn the red dress.
STOKER
You look beautiful, every woman will be
mad with jealousy.
FLORENCE
I feel like a piece of upholstery.
The hansom veers sharply around a tight corner.
STOKER
I say! Steady on my man!
The DRIVER ignores him, raises his whip and CRACKS it.
FLORENCE
There’s not going to be a single
Irishwoman there, I know it. And me with
my thick brogue. They’ll think I’m a
washerwoman... or worse.
The coach enters the bustling theatre district which is
pulsating with life and thrilling to behold. Bars,
emporiums, coffee houses -- the heart of the city, with
every possible kind of entertainment and restaurant.
FLORENCE (CONT’D)
At least it’s not raining.
As if on cue, THUNDER claps overhead.
24. 23.
EXT. LYCEUM THEATRE - NIGHT
LIGHTNING shatters, dramatically revealing the Lyceum
Theatre with its monumental Grecian facade and towering
Corinthian columns topped with flaming marble torches.
A small notice tacked to the shuttered portico says
“CLOSED FOR PRIVATE FUNCTION.”
Stoker and Florence rush to the stage door which suddenly
opens revealing the wickedly vivacious ELLEN TERRY, 31.
ELLEN TERRY
There you are! Mr. Stoker, I presume?
Ellen Terry. Your new employee. Sorry
about the weather, you’ll have to get
used to it. City needs a glass dome.
Stoker is star-struck. Terry is the most famous actress
in the country, stunningly beautiful, whip-smart and the
second highest paid woman in England after the Queen.
STOKER
A great honor. Your Ophelia last year was
sublime. As moving as your Rosalynd the
year before that and your Imogen in ‘74.
ELLEN TERRY
Forget those girls, who’s this beauty?
She is staring agog at Florence.
STOKER
May I present my wife, Florence.
ELLEN TERRY
Have you acted in London before?
FLORENCE
I’m not an actress.
ELLEN TERRY
Well that’s a relief! Come on!
(grabs her arm)
Let’s get you in from this rain.
INT. BACKSTAGE, LYCEUM - NIGHT
Ellen leads the Stokers past CATERERS and STAFF fretting
over last minute party details, rapidly shining silver
cutlery, preparing platters with decorative garnish.
25. 24.
They pass a small wood-panelled dining area, THE
BEEFSTEAK ROOM, where WORKERS are polishing a chandelier.
FLORENCE
What goes on in here?
She peers inside. Someone snaps the door curtain shut.
ELLEN TERRY
Men only, I’m afraid.
She flags down a dapper zooming page-boy named SHRIMP.
ELLEN TERRY (CONT’D)
Shrimp, run ahead and alert Miss Carr
that Mr. Stoker has arrived.
SHRIMP
(tips cap)
Pleasure, madame.
He speeds off, his eyes lingering a moment on Florence.
ELLEN TERRY
I’ll give you the quick tour.
Shrimp and CRONIES wolf-whistle at Florence as she glides
by. Florence cringes. Stoker chuckles, proud as punch.
ELLEN TERRY (CONT’D)
You’re going to have to hide your wife
behind a veil, Mr. Stoker, if we’re to
get any work done around here.
Stoker looks around. Sure enough, ever male backstage is
captivated by Florence; STAGEHANDS, CARPENTERS, LIMELIGHT
MEN et al, all of them tipping caps and smiling her way.
INT. REHEARSAL ROOM - NIGHT
Irving is testing new f/x gear with Loveday and
TECHNICIANS, trying out new lightboards from Germany.
Classical music BOOMS forth from a phonograph cylinder,
the 5th Movement of Berlioz’s “Symphonie Fantastique.”
Shrimp enters and approaches a young woman standing to
the side of the stage taking notes. Her name is MISS
CARR, 20, Irving’s private secretary and sketch artist.
Miss Carr wears a constrained grey ‘governess’ gown and
her little round face is plastered with white foundation.
26. 25.
MISS CARR
(without looking up)
What do you want, Shrimp?
SHRIMP
Excuse me, Miss Carr. Mr. and Mrs. Bram
Stoker to see Mr. Irving.
Hearing this, Irving jerks his head around angrily to see
Stoker come bounding over. He scowls, kills the MUSIC.
HENRY IRVING
Did you get my telegram? I wanted you
hear on the twelfth. This is the
thirteenth. And who pray tell is this?
STOKER
My wife, Florence.
HENRY IRVING
Wife! A word in private, Mr. Stoker.
He marches off. Stoker looks at Florence who realizes he
has no choice but to leave her there and follow Irving.
ELLEN TERRY
Come on, let’s go show you off to
everyone. I love your hair, so soft and
thick. How do you get it like that?
FLORENCE
Uh... egg whites and dandelion leaves.
ELLEN TERRY
How wonderful!
INT. IRVING’S OFFICE - NIGHT
Irving is lambasting Stoker, pacing about, apoplectic.
HENRY IRVING
In less than nine months you’ll be a
father!
STOKER
Florence is not pregnant.
HENRY IRVING
Oh. Now I understand. This was a romantic
gesture! You did this for love! Egadz, is
every Irishman as thick-headed as you?
27. 26.
STOKER
I don’t understand.
HENRY IRVING
Marriage robs a man of ambition!
STOKER
Not with me. Speaking as an employer, I
always found married subordinates to be
more productive than bachelors.
HENRY IRVING
That might be how it works on the potato
farm but the theatre business is a young
man’s game. A young, single man’s game.
Stoker spies a bible on a nearby shelf, scoops it up.
STOKER
I swear, on the Book, that I will devote
my life to you, morning, noon and night.
Irving looks him up and down, deciding.
HENRY IRVING
She’s very beautiful, Stoker. Beautiful
women require constant attention.
EXT. IRVING’S DRESSING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Loveday hears muffled voices, cocks an ear to the door.
INT. IRVING’S DRESSING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
HENRY IRVING
I suppose her charms might bring in some
business. Go! Go to her! Enjoy the
festivities. Work a full week and if, by
the end of Friday, you still mean it,
then I will accept your oath of loyalty.
EXT. IRVING’S DRESSING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Loveday sees the door handle turn and quickly skulks off.
INT. IRVING’S DRESSING ROOM - CONTINUOUS
Stoker leaves. Irving opens the bible and removes a small
glass vial of liquid from a secret cavity within. He
pulls out the stopper and imbibes the vial’s contents.
28. 27.
A thin rivulet of red liquid seeps from his mouth and
trickles down his chin. He finds a napkin, dabs it.
INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT
MUSIC fills the air as we move across the crowded foyer,
finding Florence talking with Ellen and the very
attractive ROSE LOVEDAY, 22, and other TROPHY WIVES.
ELLEN TERRY
Mrs. Bram Stoker may I present Mrs.
Harold Loveday.
ROSE
Call me Rose. So it’s true, you are
beautiful.
FLORENCE
Thank you. So are you. I love your dress.
So light and unadorned. May I?
She brushes her hand over the delicate brocade.
ROSE
It’s tight-fitting like the cuirasse but
without a waist seam and the bodice and
skirt are cut into one. So it’s much
easier to move around in.
FLORENCE
How did you make it?
Rose and Ellen lock eyes and share a little laugh.
ROSE
Made it! How adorable. Don’t worry, we’ll
take you to the emporiums tomorrow.
ELLEN TERRY
A little tour of pleasures. Your life of
leisure awaits!
Irving appears, kisses Rose and Ellen, turns to Florence.
HENRY IRVING
Mrs. Stoker, I must apologize for my
brutish behavior earlier. You see, you
caught me working and I often forget
myself when absorbed in stagecraft.
Without breaking eye contact, he puts her little hand in
his and kisses it.
29. 28.
HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
As an imperfect mortal to a goddess, I
humbly beg your forgiveness.
Florence finds herself overpowered by Irving’s magnetism.
INT. LYCEUM - LATER
Stoker is talking to Loveday, looking over at the
ravishing vision that is the COMTESSE DE GUERBEL, a raven-
haired aristocrat in her 20s, exquisitely begowned and
bejeweled. She is surrounded by three tongue-tied MEN.
STOKER
Who is that?
LOVEDAY
The Comtesse De Guerbel. Do you know her?
She’s staring right at you.
Stoker is captivated. The Comtesse is truly stunning.
LOVEDAY (CONT’D)
Good luck. I hear she’s a tigress who
collects married men like souvenirs.
He scoots off in a huff just as the Comtesse appears.
COMTESSE
Mr. Stoker? The Comtesse de Guerbell.
STOKER
An honor.
He takes her gloved hand and kisses it.
STOKER (CONT’D)
Is there a Count de Guerbell?
COMTESSE
There was. I’m recently widowed.
STOKER
My condolences.
COMTESSE
Well... not that recently.
She looks right at him. A pregnant silence. Broken by:
30. 29.
COMTESSE (CONT’D)
Everyone’s talking about your stunning
wife. I thought I’d come meet the man who
won her heart.
Stoker doesn’t realize it but directly overhead sits...
INT. PRIVATE BOX - CONTINUOUS
Irving and Florence. Irving appears quite taken by her.
HENRY IRVING
Thank you for allowing me to bring you up
here. I wanted a chance for us to talk.
She pulls her hair back, revealing a dangling crucifix.
FLORENCE
I’ve never seen a theatre as big as this.
HENRY IRVING
It is my sanctuary and cathedral.
FLORENCE
There must be a thousand seats!
He reaches for a ringlet of her hair and strokes it,
causing her to instantly flinch and tense up.
HENRY IRVING
Relax. I’m not going to bite you.
INT. LYCEUM BALCONY - LATER
The Comtesse laughs at something Stoker just said.
COMTESSE
Perhaps we can finish this conversation
another time? At my townhouse, perhaps.
She looks at him, a shadow of enticement in her sparkling
blue eyes. Before Stoker can answer...
Loveday suddenly appears, practically butts in.
LOVEDAY
Grab your coat and hat, Irving wants to
see us all at his place. Immediately.
Stoker turns to the Comtesse but Loveday is insistent.
31. 30.
LOVEDAY (CONT’D)
Sorry. No time for good-byes.
He practically drags Stoker off. We HOLD on the Comtesse.
INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT
Florence is looking for Stoker.
FLORENCE
Have you seen Bram?
ELLEN TERRY
Irving called a meeting.
FLORENCE
At this hour?
ELLEN TERRY
You’ll get used to it.
INT. HANSOM - MOVING - NIGHT
Stoker, Loveday and Miss Carr in a rumbling hansom.
EXT. IRVING’S HOUSE - NIGHT
An old church converted into a plush private compound,
complete with iron bars on the stained-glass windows.
Stoker rings the bell while Loveday and Miss Carr look
on. A voice cries out from beyond the gate.
VOICE (O.S.)
I’m coming! I’m coming! No need to make a
noise to wake the dead!
A faint lantern light grows larger, revealing Irving’s
housekeeper MRS. POOLE, a stout Hungarian woman in her
fifties. She is with FANG, a hulking jet-black mastiff.
The leashed animal growls at Stoker, baring its fangs.
MRS. POOLE
Down boy!
(opens gate)
Well don’t just stand there!
32. 31.
INT. IRVING’S HOUSE - NIGHT
A sparsely furnished room with a big fireplace blazing.
Irving is quaffing brandy and conversing with a skinny,
bookish Scotsman in a suit: ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE, 27.
Stoker, Loveday and Carr are shown in. Fang trots across
the marble-tiled floor and settles down at Irving’s feet.
HENRY IRVING
Thank you, Mrs. Poole.
She leaves.
HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
Gentlemen, Miss Carr, may I present my
favorite new dramatist, Mr. Arthur Doyle.
Stoker excitedly proffers his hand.
STOKER
I’ve read your work in ‘Black Mask’
magazine. I particularly enjoyed the one
about the detective.
HENRY IRVING
Forget detectives! Tell them what your
play is about Mr. Doyle.
CONAN DOYLE
‘Waterloo.’ The story of Napoleon’s
defeat.
HENRY IRVING
Wait till you read this! The battle
scenes alone will thrill them. But first
allow me to bid Mr. Doyle adieu.
Irving slots an envelope into Doyle’s suit pocket.
HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
Don’t go spending that all at once.
CONAN DOYLE
Couldn’t if I tried. A thousand thanks.
HENRY IRVING
Don’t you mean twenty thousand thanks?
They snicker. Irving shows Doyle out. Loveday immediately
seizes the manuscript and feverishly flips through it.
33. 32.
LOVEDAY
What did you pay for this?
HENRY IRVING
Twenty thousand pounds.
Miss Carr emits a tiny gasp.
LOVEDAY
Twenty thousand! That’s half our profit
of last season!
Fang growls at Loveday.
HENRY IRVING
“Waterloo” will prove to be anything but
for us. It’s perfect for the planned
expansion. We’re going to have to fill
those five hundred extra seats somehow
and I don’t think Ibsen is the answer. We
need to give them spectacle. Agreed?
Loveday doesn’t get it but Stoker does. Nodding as we cut
to...
INT. BEDROOM - NIGHT
Florence is in a side bathroom brushing her long blonde
locks, clad in her undergarments. She doesn’t look happy.
Stoker is sitting up in bed reading “Waterloo” and mail.
STOKER
Complain all you like. I think he's
fascinating.
He slices open a letter and reads it to himself.
STOKER’S POV -- THE LETTER
“Dear. Mr. Stoker, Thank you for submitting ‘Cat’s Eyes.’
You are a very talented writer. Unfortunately, this story
does not suit our publishing needs at this time. Thank
you and please keep us in mind for future submissions.
Sincerely, Peter Faber, Esq.”
BACK TO SCENE
Stoker hides his chagrin, picks up “Waterloo.”
34. 33.
FLORENCE
Oh, I suppose he's all right. I can
handle him touching my hair, but, well,
give me someone a little more normal.
STOKER
Like...?
FLORENCE
Like you.
STOKER
I have my dark side.
FLORENCE
Yes, you do! You left me there tonight!
Not so much as a note or a by-your-leave.
STOKER
There wasn’t opportunity. I rushed
straight home.
He sets the play down.
FLORENCE
Well? What do you think? Will it make
your fortune?
STOKER
It is well crafted but needs more in the
way of visual flair.
She comes over to him, hops onto the bed.
FLORENCE
Any ideas?
He looks at her. So sexy.
STOKER
One or two.
He pulls the bow on her slip and they start to make love.
INT. STOKER’S OFFICE - NIGHT
Stoker looks up from a pile of paperwork to see a massive
sun sizzling into the Thames. He stretches, checks his
pocketwatch and smiles, happy to be going home when...
CRACK!! Irving suddenly pounds the door with the handle
of his cane and comes bounding in, full of vigor and vim.
35. 34.
HENRY IRVING
I take a walk every day after sundown. To
whip up the circulation. My head starts
spinning with ideas and I’d like you to
accompany me.
STOKER
Of course. I am at your disposal.
INT. BOXING RING - DOCKLANDS - NIGHT
CRACK! A swung fist shatters a jaw. Blood goes flying.
PULL BACK TO REVEAL... Stoker and Irving at a bare-
knuckles boxing match. CRACK! More body fluids spray.
HENRY IRVING
Bravo! I love the sight of blood! I bet
you boxed at Trinity, man your size? Or
was wrestling your bag? I’m a boxer.
STOKER
I captained the rugby team, which in
Ireland involves boxing and wrestling.
HENRY IRVING
Stout chap! I knew it.
He hollers at the fighter flat on the mat.
HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
Get up, you swine! Encore! Encore!
The REF feels the flattened fighter’s pulse. Nothing. He
waves his arms. Fight over. The place erupts.
HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
All right, we’re leaving.
Stoker stands up, his Savile Row suit spattered in gore.
INT. OPIUM DEN - NIGHT
Weird, translucent figures take shape on the screen.
PULLING BACK we realize that we are in an opium den,
watching the languid scene from Stoker’s POV.
He is sprawled on a divan of Persian saddlebags, smoking
a charred bamboo pipe, trying to keep his eyes open while
Irving downs absinthe with two naked CHINESE GIRLS.
36. 35.
Other NUDES loll about. COOLIES come and go, emptying
ashes and keeping the smoldering opium burners lit.
Stoker focuses his gaze on a striking mural festooning
the brick wall at the back of the smoky room. It is a
vibrant painting of a Chinese demon with enormous fangs.
EXT. OPIUM DEN - NIGHT
Stoker and Irving stagger out to a deserted street. The
rows of blazing street lamps look like a hallucinatory
blur to Stoker. He tries to snap out of his reverie.
HENRY IRVING
(looks at pocketwatch)
Good. Two hours before sun up. Just
enough time for one last stop.
He hails a cab which comes clattering toward them down
the street. Stoker follows, trying to keep pace.
INT. BROTHEL - NIGHT
Irving plays piano while a gaggle of scantily-clad French
STRUMPETS frolic and cavort, undressing to the music.
Stoker sits on a sofa, trying to resist temptation whilst
sipping champagne with three comely COURTESANS.
INT. STOKER FLAT - NIGHT
The door creaks open. Stoker slips into bed without
waking Florence. His eyes focus on a clock that shows
5:30 A.M. He shuts his eyes. He opens them. The clock
shows 6:30 A.M. He gets up. Staggers to the washroom.
EXT. STRAND - MORNING
Stoker bicycles to work along the Strand, weaving in and
out of elm trees, past a NEWSPAPER BOY flogging tabloids.
NEWSPAPER BOY
Extra! Extra! Two more murder victims
found! Throats slit from ear to ear!
INT. REHEARSAL ROOM, LYCEUM - NIGHT
CLANG! CLANG! Metal clashes. Blue bolts of electricity
crackle. CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! A huge SHOWER OF SPARKS.
37. 36.
PULL BACK TO REVEAL...
Stoker is on stage in a sword fight with MR. HARKER, 50s,
the Lyceum’s Electrician. Black cord snakes up from their
boot soles to the prop swords. Stoker removes his vizor.
STOKER
What do you think?
HENRY IRVING
I think you’re a bloody fool! A spark
could catch the curtain baize and we’d
have ourselves a bonfire within minutes.
Far too dangerous. Right, Mr. Loveday?
LOVEDAY
Quite right, Mr. Irving. Most dangerous.
STOKER
The baize will be protected and Harker
here is going to rig a series of fans for
the smoke. We’ll have personnel stationed
in the wings with buckets of water. I
believe this effect will provide the
spectacle lacking in our finale.
HENRY IRVING
I commend your creativity, Stoker, but
there’s one striking flaw: The audience
comes to see me! They don’t need
electricity. I provide the fireworks!
He storms off with a smug Miss Carr and Loveday. A beat,
then... Harker starts dismantling the boots and swords.
STOKER
What are you doing? Leave that.
HARKER
But I thought Mr. Irving said...
STOKER
Never mind what Mr. Irving said.
EXT. LYCEUM - NIGHT
Opening night of “Waterloo.” A mob of scrubby WORKING-
CLASS types jostle for the best pit seats while nattily-
dressed ARISTOCRATS and other TOFFS stroll right in.
38. 37.
INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT
A tuxedoed Stoker seats Florence in the most prominent
front row seat.
Florence is in a slim fitting trained dress and her hair
is braided, exposing her ears, with the ends cascading
down the back in curled ringlets and looped braids.
STOKER
I’ll be back in a few minutes.
He kisses her on the cheek, taking note of all the men
and women captivated by his stunning, luminous wife.
INT. BACKSTAGE - NIGHT
Mayhem. STAGEHANDS and other PERSONNEL running around
like headless chickens. Stoker barks at a LIMELIGHT MAN.
STOKER
The limelight’s for Mr. Irving and Mr.
Irving only.
INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT
Curtain falls for the end of Act I. Polite applause.
Some patrons are exiting. Stoker looks up at Harker who
is perched high above the stage on the flywalk. He nods.
INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT
Irving and the man playing Napoleon are sword-fighting
when the lights suddenly die. Cries of confusion. And
then a blue CRACKLE of electric current silences all.
CLANGS reverberate as BLUE SPARKS fly from the darkness.
The audience coos at the coruscating pyrotechnics.
Stoker dashes up a rope-ladder to the flywalk and Harker.
STOKER
Increase the voltage!
HARKER
It’s risky. Circuit might blow.
STOKER
Do it!
39. 38.
Harker cranks it, making the electricity on stage zap
into a frenzied lightning storm of sparking filaments.
The Limelight Men improvise and add to the effect with
chiaroscuro, backlighting and high-contrast lighting,
building to a glorious show-stopping incandescent climax.
STOKER (CONT’D)
Give it everything! All the way!
The power dies. Needles on gauges bounce to zero.
STOKER (CONT’D)
Lights!
The auditorium gas-lamps gradually revive.
Total and complete silence. Hear a pin drop.
Stoker doesn’t breathe.
Someone claps. It spreads. Crescendoes into DEAFENING
APPLAUSE with stomping FEET and HOLLERING from the pit.
The curtain lifts and Irving appears, bowing to the Royal
Box, the pit and the gods. He is bombarded with flowers.
INT. BEEFSTEAK ROOM - NIGHT
Invitation-only supper club. Politicians, artists and
aristocrats. The Victorian white male power elite.
Attending tonight: WILLIAM GLADSTONE, Arthur Conan Doyle,
HALL CAINE, ARTHUR SULLIVAN of Gilbert & Sullivan, et al.
Stoker sits to Irving’s right. Irving is holding court.
HENRY IRVING
I was walking along the Thames in Chelsea
when it hit me like a thunderbolt. If
electricity can light up the city, why
not harness that energy for spectacle?
Cries of “Bravo, Irving!,” “Genius!,” “Irving the Great!”
GUEST #1
Three cheers for Irving! Hip hip...
EVERYONE
Hooray!
GUEST #1
Hip hip...
40. 39.
We PULL BACK AND UP from the table to an aerial POV,
easing back through peepholes to a secret VIEWING GALLERY
hidden over the ceiling where Florence, Terry, Rose and a
few select, invited women sit silently eavesdropping.
Florence does her best to seem unperturbed while Irving
brazenly takes all the credit.
INT. STOKER’S OFFICE - NIGHT
Stoker and Irving are counting receipts for the season.
HENRY IRVING
I have the profits at ten thousand, two
hundred and seventeen pounds.
STOKER
The exact same figure I have.
HENRY IRVING
Your quarter comes to two thousand five
hundred dollars. Less nineteen hundred.
Surcharge in our electricity bill.
STOKER
I don’t understand.
HENRY IRVING
The swords, you stupid Irishman!
STOKER
But why should I foot the bill?
HENRY IRVING
Costs are costs, Mr. Stoker. You could
hardly expect me to indulge your
fascination with electricity after I made
it perfectly clear I considered the
matter a fire hazard. This is our first
production, be content. The real money’s
in America. One more ‘Waterloo’ and we’ll
be able to afford a tour. Hmm? We good?
Stoker hesitates, then nods.
HENRY IRVING (CONT’D)
Capital. What are your summer plans? I
shall be on my yacht off the Brighton
coast, if you and the wife care to join.
Stoker forces a smile.
41. 40.
STOKER
We’d be delighted.
EXT. WALRUS - BRIGHTON COAST - DAY
Stoker is on deck with Florence, looking snazzy in a new
straw boater and richly striped blazer. Florence is
wearing a two-piece bathing dress and carries a parasol.
A newly-successful looking Conan Doyle is also present
with a very pretty and flirtatious raven-haired ACTRESS.
CONAN DOYLE
My dear, you’re going to have to slow
down on the Pims or you’ll be flat on
your back in no time.
ACTRESS
You’d like that wouldn’t you?
She is incredibly attractive, like an early silent movie
star, with spectacular legs and big, expressive eyes.
Her name is VIOLET HUNT.
STOKER
Violet Hunt. I don’t think I’ve ever met
an actress quite as... vivacious as you.
VIOLET HUNT
Bram Stoker. What kind of name is that
anyway? Bram? Short for what... Bramble?
She giggles. Bram is captivated. Florence elbows him.
POP! Irving steps into view with a frothing magnum of
champagne which he hands to a SERVANT who fills flutes.
Ellen Terry is with him, clad in a chic swimsuit.
HENRY IRVING
To “Waterloo.” The biggest success on the
London stage. The first of many!
Everyone drinks, except Rose who is occupied with a
mysterious contraption, a camera as big as a bread-box.
ROSE LOVEDAY
All right. Let’s give this a try. Come
on, gather around. Everyone say cheese!
42. 41.
They oblige. Frozen smiles. The terrific FLASH blinds us.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. ROSENBACH MUSEUM - DAY
The photograph from Irving’s yacht appears as a black and
white print in “Personal Reminiscences of Henry Irving.”
We are back in the reading room of the Rosenbach Museum.
Robinson flips through the remaining chapters which have
rather dry titles like “Theories of Acting Styles.”
He shuts the book just as the pretty Archivist appears.
ARCHIVIST
Find what you were looking for?
ROBINSON
Not really. I’m finished, thanks.
She packs the materials, returns them to the top shelf.
ARCHIVIST
What’s the subject of your thesis?
ROBINSON
Actually, I’m a producer. You know,
motion pictures.
She looks at him.
ROBINSON (CONT’D)
I’m trying to find out if Stoker had any
real life inspiration for his story.
We’re going to run a feature on his life
before re-releasing ‘Dracula’ this fall.
ARCHIVIST
Perhaps you could talk to one of Mr.
Stoker’s contemporaries. He wasn’t that
old when he passed away. There may be
someone still around who knew him.
ROBINSON
Like who?
ARCHIVIST
Arthur Conan Doyle’s alive. You know,
Sherlock Holmes? He lives somewhere in
London. He’s old but not that old.
43. 42.
ROBINSON
London, huh?
INT. PAN AM CLIPPER - IN THE AIR - DAY/NIGHT
Robinson is nestled in a cushy first class cabin, smoking
a cigarette and reading a dog-eared copy of “Dracula.”
The book’s lurid cover art shows a tuxedoed Count with
his hair slicked back, standing in a crumbling castle.
EXT. UNDERSHAW/CONAN DOYLE’S HOUSE - DAY
A statue of Sherlock Holmes guards the entrance to this
picturesque red-brick house in London. Creeping ivy and
black latticed windows gives the place an air of mystery.
INT. STUDY, UNDERSHAW - DAY
A huge stone fireplace is lit and blazing. A poker stabs
at the coals, rearranging them. PULL BACK TO REVEAL...
...Arthur Conan Doyle, an old man now, getting
comfortable in a deep leather armchair opposite Robinson.
Rose’s photograph from Irving’s yacht is visible in a
frame on a shelf behind him.
A big, ugly tiger moth is flittering about the room.
CONAN DOYLE
There’s one thing you have to understand
about Bram Stoker. Henry Irving was his
idol. He wrote about the man for seven
years before they even met. Seven years
of worship from afar.
ROBINSON
Did Stoker base “Dracula” on their
relationship?
CONAN DOYLE
Irving certainly was strange but I’m not
sure I’d go so far as... although did you
know he suffered from porphyria?
ROBINSON
Por-what?
44. 43.
CONAN DOYLE
Porphyria. A rare genetic skin disorder,
an allergy to the sun that causes severe
reactions to heat and light. Begins to
account for his nocturnal lifestyle.
ROBINSON
Nothing I’ve read on Irving mentions it.
CONAN DOYLE
He never told a soul. I happened to
examine Irving myself.
He nods at the medical diplomas on the wall by Robinson.
CONAN DOYLE (CONT’D)
Two years as a ship’s doctor on a voyage
to West Africa and then five years as an
opthalmologist. Still be practising now
if weren’t for Stoker.
ROBINSON
They produced your play “Waterloo.”
CONAN DOYLE
That’s right. My first stab at drama
proved to be most lucrative.
ROBINSON
So you saw the dynamic between Stoker and
Irving close up.
CONAN DOYLE
Americans have a phrase for it: star
struck. That was Stoker all right.
The moth flutters curiously around a lit candle.
ROBINSON
From what I can gather, their
relationship soured and there was some
controversy surrounding Irving’s death.
DOYLE
I don’t know anything about that. Stoker
confided in me. We were quite close at
one point. But our friendship ended
rather abruptly around ‘88.
ROBINSON
What happened?
The moth hits its wing on the candle flame and combusts.
45. 44.
DOYLE
Victoria Hunt happened.
Doyle scoops up the dead insect, cremates it in the fire.
ROBINSON
I read about her in “The Personal
Reminiscences of Henry Irving.”
DOYLE
Tish! That book was pabulum for the
public. They didn’t know the real Henry
Irving. No one did.
ROBINSON
Is it fair to say Count Dracula is a
thinly veiled portrayal of Irving?
CONAN DOYLE
(after a beat)
Irving had certain vampyric tendencies.
ROBINSON
Tell me about them.
Doyle seems perturbed as he gazes at the crackling fire.
Wisps of smoke become...
EXT. LONDON LANE - NIGHT
...thick, green-gray curling wreathes of London fog.
The SOUND of FOOTSTEPS from within the murky haze.
A cloud of steam drifts up through a grating.
There is sudden movement in the gutter. A huge slimy rat
slithers along with something in its mouth. A HUMAN
FINGER. Ring attached. The rat scurries off down a drain.
The FOOTFALLS get louder until --
HENRY IRVING
emerges from the swirling mist, prodding the ground with
his cane, striding briskly toward an OLD MAN who sees him
and takes an exaggerated step back in fright.
Irving hoists his cane and clubs the man to the earth,
hailing down a storm of savage blows, kicking and
trampling him with ape-like fury. His bloodied cane
splits in two and one half goes flying through the air.
46. 45.
Atmospheric MUSIC swells as we PULL BACK TO REVEAL...
...we are on stage in the Lyceum, amidst a vividly
realized production of “Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”
The curtain drops. Gaslight reveals a riveted audience.
Everyone is too shaken to immediately applaud but when
they do it is loud, enthusiastic and sustained.
Doyle sits up front, beside a ravishing-looking Violet.
BACKSTAGE
Stoker greets Irving with pride and adoration.
STOKER
A most convincing performance!
Irving ignores him and makes a beeline for the actor who
played the battered old man.
HENRY IRVING
You! You were late again! And kindly
remain at the back of the stage or next
time it won’t be a prop cane that
splinters on your spine!
He storms off.
LOVEDAY
A word, please, Mr. Stoker.
STOKER
(eyeing Violet)
Can it wait?
LOVEDAY
A most delicate situation has arisen.
This comes directly from the top.
Stoker sighs, follows him, exiting past Doyle and Violet.
CONAN DOYLE
I say, where are you headed?
STOKER
I wish I knew.
CONAN DOYLE
Tell us all about it when you return.
47. 46.
VIOLET
Yes, Bramble, tell us everything.
EXT. WHITECHAPEL - NIGHT
Stoker and Loveday stand before a stationary hansom,
holding the door open for four slatternly PROSTITUTES.
LOVEDAY
Occasionally, Irving asks me to invite
some female admirers from the penny seats
to visit him in his quarters.
STOKER
These women hardly fit the description.
LOVEDAY
Our master has certain expectations when
it comes to female entertainment. I
expect we all do. Regardless, as you’ll
come to see, this system works best.
One of the girls strokes Stoker’s cheek flirtatiously.
PROSTITUTE #1
‘ello, ‘andsome.
LOVEDAY
Yes, come along, come along!
He hustles the last of the girls into the carriage.
INT. HANSOM - MOVING - NIGHT
Stoker and Irving and the prostitutes crammed inside.
Stoker watches with slight disgust as Loveday examines
the girls, poking and prodding them with his fingers.
PROSTITUTE #1
‘er throat was cut and body moot-ilated.
PROSTITUTE #2
I ‘eard there was no blood at the scene.
PROSTITUTE #3
That’s coz ‘e strangles ‘em.
PROSTITUTE #4
The Ripper ‘e calls himself. On account
of rippin’ the organs out of his victims.
48. 47.
STOKER
Ahem, are you ladies discussing the
recent spate of murders in Whitechapel?
PROSTITUTE #1
Core, ‘e’s a bright one ain’t ‘e? Course
that’s wot we’re talkin’ about!
PROSTITUTE #2
That’s all we talk about.
PROSTITUTE #3
‘e’s killed five of us already.
PROSTITUTE #4
None of us wants to be next.
LOVEDAY
There’ll be no talk of Jack the Ripper in
Mr. Irving’s presence. And you’re to do
everything he says or you won’t get paid.
INT. BEEFSTEAK ROOM - NIGHT
The streetwalkers have been washed and scrubbed and
transformed into beautiful, buxom French courtesans clad
in expensive costumes from the “Waterloo” production.
Champagne and caviar flows. CLASSICAL MUSIC provided by a
quartet of MUSICIANS dressed as servants from the court
of Louis XIV, complete with powdered wigs and fake moles.
In the middle of the bacchanal sits Irving, on a throne,
looking like the Sun King, being serviced by a kneeling
supplicant made up to resemble a young Marie Antoinette.
PULLING BACK we realize we are watching from STOKER,
LOVEDAY and DOYLE’S POV in the upstairs viewing gallery.
Stoker looks at his watch, notices Loveday leering
lecherously at the goings-on below, quietly slips out.
INT. STOKER FLAT - NIGHT
Stoker is trying to mollify a very agitated Florence.
FLORENCE
You’re never here! I see delivery men
more than I see you! You don’t even sleep
here some nights. Writing on the
weekends. What about me? I’m lonesome!
49. 48.
STOKER
This is only temporary. Once “Faust” is
launched my burden will ease.
FLORENCE
You said that last year. And now you’re
talking about going to America for six
months! Six months!
STOKER
You and Noel will accompany me on all
future trips after this initial
excursion. I must assess the hardships
and risks involved.
FLORENCE
I don’t like it here anymore. I miss
Ireland.
STOKER
The doctor said you have an excess of
cholic following the birth. It has
nothing to do with where we live.
FLORENCE
Don’t you miss home?
STOKER
This is home.
FLORENCE
Why not take the experience from here and
manage a theatre of your own in Dublin?
Irving doesn’t give you the respect you
deserve. Partner! He lied to you!
STOKER
That would be going backwards. Dublin -
London - America. That’s the plan.
FLORENCE
What about me? What about my plans?
STOKER
My plans are your plans.
Florence reaches for a vial of medicine but he stops her.
STOKER (CONT’D)
I’m going to ask my brother Thornley to
take a look at you.
FLORENCE
I don’t need a doctor. I need a husband!
50. 49.
Two-year old NOEL STOKER creeps in rubbing his eyes.
NOEL
I’m hungry.
STOKER
(to Florence)
Go back to bed. I’ll make some time for
us this weekend.
FLORENCE
You’re going to Paris with Irving this
weekend.
STOKER
Soon then. I promise.
INT. KITCHEN - NIGHT
Stoker is up late, working on the draft of a novel.
INT. LUNATIC ASYLUM - DAY
TILTING DOWN from the high metal gate of the sanitarium
and dissolving to the gardens and grounds below, where we
move past an odd assortment of ATTENDANTS and PATIENTS.
Suddenly, a terrifying CRY is heard from the main
building. Two PATIENTS on a bench hear the cry and react.
PATIENT
He probably wants his flies again!
They laugh, screeching hysterically. Tracking up to the
second-story sanitarium where two MEN struggle together.
INT. LUNATIC ASYLUM - DAY
A tortured PATIENT is begging an ORDERLY to let him keep
a spider for a meal.
ORDERLY
Here, give it to me now...
He procures the spider from the deranged man and carries
it with two fingers toward the window.
PATIENT
No! Don't throw my spider away from me!
The Orderly disposes of the insect.
51. 50.
ORDERLY
Ashamed now, are you?
He pulls the patient by the ear and twists it, as Stoker
appears from around a corner with THORNLEY STOKER, 32,
his younger brother, a successful doctor, one who
exhibits more compassion than a typical Victorian medic.
THORNLEY
Hey! Enough of that!
The Orderly and Patient clear out. Stoker tags along
while Thornley does his rounds. It is Bedlam: CATATONIC
PATIENTS fussing with bedsheets, SCHIZOS ranting, etc.
THORNLEY (CONT’D)
Where was I?
STOKER
You were trying to convince me that
Florence is acting perfectly normal.
Thornley checks the bloody eyes of a bed-bound PATIENT.
THORNLEY
Onset of melancholia following childbirth
was first reported in ancient times.
Herodotus writes about it.
STOKER
Does he mention when it ends? Noel is two
years old!
THORNLEY
Be patient, brother, they are not built
like us. It is a wonder she survived such
a difficult birth.
He peers in at a cell where a young waif-like GIRL is
writhing around in the throes of drug-fuelled torment.
Stoker watches the abandoned woman, feels strangely
guilty.
THORNLEY (CONT’D)
How’s your sex life?
He leads them off down the dank corridor.
THORNLEY (CONT’D)
Well?
52. 51.
STOKER
It’s not what it was. Ever since the
birth. She has lost interest.
Thornley peers in at a straitjacketed syphilis victim,
reaches into the cell and jabs a needle into his neck.
THORNLEY
Things will improve. In the meantime, I
advise you to seek relief elsewhere.
Abstinence is unhealthy for a man.
INT. THORNLEY’S OFFICE - DAY
Thornley hands his brother two bottles of medicine.
THORNLEY
Two teaspoons of the red liquid in the
morning, one teaspoon of the clear at
night. That should calm her down a bit.
Stoker gazes glumly at the opium derivatives, knowing
they are just a salve. ZOOM TO the red liquid from his
POV.
INT. BOODLES GENTLEMAN’S CLUB - DAY
CLOSE ON a red snooker ball. PULL BACK TO REVEAL:
Stoker and Conan Doyle at play. CRACK! Doyle slams the
red into a pocket. It stays down. He chalks his cue and
studies the table. There is a thick atmosphere of smoke,
tension and weariness in the small, otherwise cozy room.
CONAN DOYLE
From all you’ve told me, it sounds to me
like your brother has the situation under
control.
CRACK! He sends the black ball zooming into a pocket.
STOKER
Laudanum. That’s all they prescribe, for
everything. I fear my wife’s malaise is
more... spiritual.
CONAN DOYLE
Perhaps you should be spending more time
at home.
STOKER
You know how Irving is.
53. 52.
CONAN DOYLE
Demanding?
STOKER
That’s putting it mildly. We leave for
Paris tomorrow. Two days studying
cadavers at the Paris Morgue.
CONAN DOYLE
Whatever for?
He takes a puff of his cigar. The plume becomes...
EXT. PARIS - DAY
...a thick fog from the Seine. It blots out the early
morning daylight, shrouding Paris in a chocolate pall.
Occasional shafts of sunlight stab down through the
swirling vapors, giving the city a nightmarish look.
INT. PARIS MORGUE - NIGHT
Stoker and Irving wander amid MEMBERS OF THE PUBLIC past
window displays of corpses, mostly unclaimed bodies
fished from the Seine, suicides and executed criminals.
Miss Carr follows behind Irving, pressing a cambric-
scented handkerchief to her nose while she sketches body
parts, faces and anything else of interest to Irving.
Irving stops before a tableau of a drowning victim.
HENRY IRVING
Make sure to get the shadows, Miss Carr.
The eye sockets. I want Mr. Pritchard to
make me look exactly like that for Faust.
STOKER
Did you read the publicity materials?
Miss Carr drops her scented handkerchief and gags when
she inhales the putrid air.
HENRY IRVING
No. Bring me up to date.
STOKER
Rest assured, ‘Faust’ is going to be the
biggest, most spectacular production ever
mounted on a London stage.
54. 53.
HENRY IRVING
I hope so. No success means no America.
Don’t disappoint me, Mr. Stoker. Suffice
to say your future hangs in the balance.
INT. STOKER’S FLAT - NIGHT
Stoker dresses Noel while two HANDMAIDS wash, dress and
ply Florence with enough laudanum to face the world.
INT. LYCEUM - NIGHT
Irving is on stage as Mephistopheles in the lavish
production of ‘Faust,’ in scarlet face make-up and clad
in a brilliant scarlet cape. The f/x are eye-popping:
apparitions, tinsel storms, descents into a sulfurous
inferno, trapdoor vanishings and mysterious mists.
The Stokers, Doyle, Violet and the Lovedays watch from
Stoker’s box. Rose is fiddling with a new camera. Violet
gives Stoker a flirtatious look. He looks away, his eyes
settling on a woman below in the front row: the Comtesse.
She sees him and smiles. Stoker pulls his head back.
MONTAGE
Money pours into the Lyceum with the success of “Faust.”
END MONTAGE
INT. BEEFSTEAK ROOM - DAY
Stoker spies Loveday talking with a STRANGER, steps back
and watches from around a corner, eavesdropping on them.
The man is lean, detached and efficient, all business.
STRANGER
What goes on in here?
LOVEDAY
This is a private dining club. The Prime
Minister and Prince of Wales dine here.
STRANGER
Why are there slats in the ceiling?
55. 54.
LOVEDAY
I’d love to stay and discuss architecture
with you but, alas, I have a job to do.
If you’ll excuse me.
STRANGER
I still need to speak with Mr. Irving.
LOVEDAY
He never rises before late afternoon.
STRANGER
I’ll return this evening then.
He turns and goes. Loveday shouts out after him.
LOVEDAY
He is not expected in tonight.
He curses to himself. Stoker retreats, waits, then...
STOKER
Who was that?
LOVEDAY
Scotland Yard. Inspector Godfrey.
STOKER
What does he want?
LOVEDAY
You’ll find out soon enough!
He takes off leaving Stoker standing there, perplexed.
NEW ANGLE
Revealing Conan Doyle watching from the vestibule.
EXT. STREETS - NIGHT
Stoker and Irving strolling through the West End.
STOKER
Who’s Godfrey?
HENRY IRVING
How should I know? Here we are. This is
meant to feature some nifty lighting.
They have arrived at the very popular Alhambra Theatre.
56. 55.
Irving hands the tickets to an USHERETTE who rips the
stubs, lifts the velvet rope.
INT. THE ALHAMBRA - NIGHT
Irving and Stoker, incognito, watch a performance of a
now forgotten play, observed by a MAN IN THE SHADOWS.
EXT. LONDON STREETS - NIGHT
Stoker and Irving turn a corner. Stoker is suddenly
winded. The MAN from the theatre has just socked him.
He wields a dagger, holds it in front of him as he cries:
MAN
Give me your money!
HENRY IRVING
Calm, calm, my man, no need to do
anything rash.
MAN
Shut up or I’ll cut you!
Irving reaches down to his pocket but flicks his cane
instead and -- SWISH! -- a blade protrudes from the end.
In one fast, circular motion, he whirls his weapon at the
guttersnipe. The blade retreats back into the cane.
At first, there seems to be no difference with the man.
And then we see that the blade has neatly sliced his
throat, right across his bulging Adam's apple.
He looks at Irving in confusion as a fine mist of blood
sprays from his throat, staining Stoker’s clothes.
Irving corrals a dumbfounded Stoker, hurries them away.
EXT. STREET - NIGHT
Stoker is visibly shaken, Irving exhilarated.
STOKER
We must inform the police. It was an
honest action, he was trying to rob us.
HENRY IRVING
There’ll be no talking to the police.
57. 56.
STOKER
But...
HENRY IRVING
I’ll remind you of an oath you took.
He looks directly at Stoker with his penetrating eyes.
INT. GARRICK - NIGHT
Doyle and Stoker are nestled in a corner nook, away from
the other PATRONS. Dole has a stunned look on his face.
STOKER
I am sorry to burden you with all this.
DOYLE
Not at all. We are friends. It sounds to
me like Irving acted in self defense.
STOKER
(pauses, looks at watch)
We should go to dinner. Irving doesn’t
like to be kept waiting.
INT. LA BOHEME RESTAURANT - NIGHT
DANCERS from Europe parade about the stage to a music
hall-type tune emanating from a piano. A large dining
table is placed before the stage where DIGNITARIES sit
feasting. Irving is seated at the head of the table.
Loveday is also there, with his wife Rose who is trying
to unlock the mysteries of a new Eastman camera.
Victoria is to Irving’s right, looking vampish. Doyle is
slumped in a chair, barely conscious, inebriated.
VICTORIA
Brambell! My darling. How are you?
Stoker goes to kiss her hand but gets swatted by Irving.
HENRY IRVING
Victoria belongs to me, tonight, don’t
you my dear?
He caresses her cheek. She giggles drunkenly. Stoker
turns to see...
COMTESSE
Isn’t this a pleasant coincidence?
58. 57.
STOKER
Can I get you something to drink?
COMTESSE
Yes, but not here. I know a charming
little place at 34 Grosvenor Square.
Stoker flicks his eyes to Irving who smiles as Victoria
dips below the table and reaches up to unbutton his fly.
STOKER
I can’t leave him.
COMTESSE
No?
She turns and waltzes off. Stoker moves toward the Irving
table, sits down tentatively, just realizing that...
INSPECTOR GODFREY
...is watching them from a corner table, supping a beer.
INT. THE COMTESSE’S BOUDOIR - NIGHT
Stoker dresses while the Comtesse reclines back in a sea
of satin sheets behind him, her face bathed in sweat.
INT. STOKER FLAT - NIGHT
Late. Dark. Florence awakes. It’s chilly. She shivers.
FLORENCE
Bram?
Silence. And then the distant SOUND of breaking glass.
Florence rushes to the window then takes a step back into
the shadows and looks out at the brilliantly lit Thames.
HENRY IRVING
can be seen staring right up at Florence. She moves
closer to the window. She blinks her eyes. No one there.
Did she imagine it? She opens the French doors and
hurries out onto the balcony, but he has vanished.
Suddenly, the DOOR OPENS behind her and MAKES HER JUMP.
Stoker enters and she goes running into his arms.
59. 58.
STOKER
What’s wrong? You look as if you have
seen a ghost.
A shrill WHISTLE BLAST suddenly pierces the night.
Stoker looks out the window to the embankment.
EXT. THAMES - NIGHT
A POLICEMAN is blowing his whistle vigorously. Stoker
steps out on the balcony, tries to make out what is
causing the commotion. PEOPLE are running to the river.
EXT. THAMES - NIGHT
Behind the Constable we see a corpse floating downstream.
Two MEN are wading towards it with gaffes and pikes. One
of them hooks into the naked female body and hauls it in.
It is the corpse of Victoria Hunt.
INT. ST. PAUL’S CATHEDRAL - DAY
The cream of London society listens as Henry Irving
eulogizes, talking from the pulpit, backed up by the well-
appointed magnificence of the Anglican altar.
PULLING BACK we learn we are watching from STOKER’S POV.
His eyes bore into Irving, as if trying to see into his
very soul. To Stoker’s right sits a numbed Conan Doyle.
INT. RECEPTION - NIGHT
Doyle stands at the back of the room, nursing a drink,
slyly observing Irving who is across the room, regaling a
group of sycophantic MOURNERS hanging on his every word.
Stoker approaches, sees the look on Doyle’s face.
STOKER
How are you doing?
CONAN DOYLE
He was the last to see her alive. Did you
know that?
STOKER
Who?
60. 59.
CONAN DOYLE
Irving. At the Garrick. You were there.
Where did you run off to?
STOKER
(quickly)
Home. When I left, Victoria was at the
table next to you.
CONAN DOYLE
She was on his lap. That much I remember
seeing before I passed out.
STOKER
What of it?
CONAN DOYLE
Maybe he was the last person to see her
alive.
STOKER
Surely not the very last.
Doyle is silent.
STOKER (CONT’D)
What have the police said? Is it the
Ripper?
Doyle shakes his head, reaches for the bottle and
generously tops up his tipple.
CONAN DOYLE
Chap at Scotland Yard thinks otherwise.
Name’s God something... Godfrey?
Stoker reacts, then quickly tries to look indifferent.
CONAN DOYLE (CONT’D)
Yes, that’s it. Godfrey. An
Inspector. Heard of him?
STOKER
What does he say?
CONAN DOYLE
The Ripper took souvenirs, internal
organs, and his method is cool and
clinical. Victoria was mauled. Carved up
like a bird, with random, haphazard stab
marks.
A couple of MOURNERS look over with disapproving looks.
61. 60.
STOKER
Perhaps we should take this conversation
outside?
CONAN DOYLE
(loud)
What conversation? This is idle
speculation!
He knocks back his drink, sets it down and stomps off.
STOKER
Wait up, old man. Doyle!
He reaches for Doyle’s arm but Doyle is too determined,
making a beeline for Irving and his circle of fans. Doyle
shoves rudely past, knocking Irving slightly with his
arm. There is an audible gasp from some mourners.
Irving takes it in his stride.
HENRY IRVING
Poor fellow. He must be devastated.
Murmurs of assent. PULL BACK TO REVEAL...
Stoker watching Irving, scrutinizing his demeanor. He
chases after Doyle, past a huge crackling fireplace.
DISSOLVE TO:
INT. UNDERSHAW - NIGHT
The fire has grown cold. Old Doyle pokes at it absently.
CONAN DOYLE
That’s all I really know. After Violet’s
death, I didn’t spend see much of Stoker
and Irving. Bad memories and all that.
ROBINSON
Do you think Irving had something to do
with her death?
CONAN DOYLE
You asked me if I thought he was the
inspiration for Dracula. I’d say he was.
Did he sleep in a coffin and drink blood?
Probably not. Was he a nocturnal creature
with a murderous appetite? The evidence
certainly points in that direction.